The (Somewhat) Chance Encounter
by katethewriter
Summary: Random strangers seldom burst into my apartment unannounced. So when two of them do within the span of twenty minutes - one to yell at me about salty dicks, and the other to apologize for the first - it catches me slightly off-guard. But I will not go as far as to say that it was a bad thing. For what transpires afterward I never expected. Rated M for language and possible smut.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys! I had a little plot bunny jumping around and couldn't resist chasing it. So I did, and this is the result. Thank you to my beta, _IW_****_riteNaked. _****She totally saved my ass when it came to proofreading this. She's got a handful of incredible and incredibly unique Mortal Instruments stories. If you haven't already I would seriously recommend checking her stuff out. Without further ado, happy reading!**

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><p>My parents got divorced when I was eight. I don't remember too much from the time before that, but the parts that I do typically involved yelling.<p>

It wasn't the kind of yelling that is heard through the vents of movies; it was the kind of yelling that was accompanied by tears, and things being thrown and dented walls.

It was the kind of yelling that could break through all the layers of your skin—even the tough calluses of guitarist's fingers and runner's feet—and hum through your buzzing bones.

It was the kind of yelling that would put out a wildfire with one breath of air.

The kind of yelling to silence entire oceans of galaxies.

The kind of yelling that was being done directly into my face by this raven-haired stranger who had just walked into my apartment.

Her yelling was so strange, so foreign. This apartment was so custom a place of whispers, that it was almost exhilarating to hear so many decibels resonating through the stale place. Her exclamations bounced off the walls and landed in every crevice they could.

There are many things in this world that I know, and infinitely many more that I don't, and this girl definitely falls in the latter. I guess _girl_ isn't the right word.

I mean, she looks to be in her early twenties, just like I am. But that's about where the similarities stop between us. I mean, there's the obvious fact that we both have boobs but that one doesn't really count. Her hair is stick straight and black.

Not black as in darkish brown. Her hair is as black as the starless night-sky over my old home in Brooklyn. Her hair is as black as the bags under an over-caffeinated, under-stimulated college-student's eyes. Her hair is as black as the ink on a poem that you didn't mean to write.

And her eyes are this haunting blue. They don't remind me of water, as most blue eyes do, but instead of a dark-wash denim jacket that has been washed too many times, but still continues only to get better each time you wear it.

Her skin is very nice, especially in such close proximity as to feel the breeze of her angry exhalations on my open eyes. I don't think I've shut them since she walked in. Her words are shrill, but her voice has a rich timbre. She easily stands six inches taller than me, not even counting the heels she's wearing. She could join the NBA wearing shoes like those.

I imagine this stranger in front of me playing professional basketball in seven inch heels.

It's a welcoming thought.

It finally dawns on me that whatever this intimidating woman is trying to say to me must be important, for she has screeched it into the air at least thrice now. I focus on the present and try to discern what she's saying.

"I can't believe you'd do that to him! He obviously cared about you, and you just shove some other guy's salty dick in your mouth. Really classy! Really classy, Kaelie. And then you have the audacity to come back to his apartment. What were you expecting to find here? Your relationship back? Sorry, but you have fucking ruined it. You're a piece of shit. He fucking cared about you. He fucking cared. I'm glad this is the first time we've met, so I don't have a bitch friend to be disappointed in now, too. You're a sorry waste of space."

I process the words she continues to yell. None of them make sense.

Who is Kaelie? What did I ruin? Whose dick did I have in my mouth?

Why was it so salty that she felt the need to include that detail?

I am about to finally open my mouth to point out that, at the very least, my name is not Kaelie, when my door is swung open by a complete stranger for the _second_ time on this fine early morning. Only now, the person opening the door is so beautiful, it feels almost too intimate to even look directly at him.

The white light of a rainy day streaming through my kitchen window lights him up like the sun in the sky. He glows so many shades of gold that I can hardly process it. He is radiant.

That's the only word I can think of that will encompass how he looks. His golden hair falls in fringing locks right over his forehead. His eyes are a beautiful light brown, and even from here I can see the gold flecks like autumn leaves on a dirt path. His teeth are pearly and his forehead crinkles up in the most enticing way.

He's tall and lean and muscular and I already can tell that no one could contain this much beauty and not be a major asshole.

Never in my life, however, have I wanted to sit down and draw another human being as badly as I do now. His beauty could illuminate a room, and there would still be excess.

"Isabelle! I thought it was your voice screeching through the walls," The hunk of gorgeousness exclaims. "Jesus Christ, look around you for a second. Does this look like my apartment?" I watch her jump as he shouts, and then slowly turn to absorb the room around her.

I'm suddenly aware that I have not cleaned up my paints in at least a few weeks. Old tea mugs are littered around the surfaces of the room, and my bagel I was about to eat is still untouched on a plate atop the couch. Whoever this golden hero is, he is seeing my apartment in all its glory apparently.

This apartment was like a savior to me. I don't know where I would have ended up without it.

After art school, I was still only 19. My mom had moved out of the Brooklyn apartment I used to call my home and was now living in some kind of a pre-retirement villa in France. She hadn't been particularly young when she had me, the accident child. She was just over forty when she and Valentine divorced.

I remember her crying and saying that she didn't think she would find anyone else. I thought that absurd because my mother was one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen. So, naturally she gets an email from her childhood friend, Luke Garroway soon after the divorce is finalized.

All he wanted was to catch up after years of rarely communicating. Little did either of them know, they'd be married only a year later. But I have to hand it to them, they've been together ever since.

Upon finding out I had nowhere to go, I ended up living in my brother Jonathan's apartment for 8 months before his girlfriend, Aline, finally told me to hit the road. She said it didn't have to be permanent, but that we all needed a bit of a break. She said something about pent-up sexual frustration due to paper thin walls.

It was all I needed to hear before I threw my stuff in a suitcase and went on a little roadtrip.

I packed a tent and as many cheap snacks as I could get my hands on, and of course, dozens of sketchbooks and 2B's. I took my time travelling West. I slept in a tent most nights due to lack of money (being an art student.)

I pulled off the highway every time something caught my eye and I would draw it. It just so happened that one of the things that caught my eye was a small one-bedroom apartment in Portland: the city of hipsters. The rent was absurdly cheap for the quality of the apartment. The walls were once again fairly thin, and sometimes the faucet leaked, and in the dead of Winter when the heater was overworked, it would occasionally whistle. But these things were like water under the bridge once I also found a job right down the street.

I settled down and informed my brother. He acted upset over the phone, but I could hear the relief in his tone that he wouldn't have to have me as a house guest any longer.

I raved so much about my place for the first few months that I actually drew out my childhood best friend, Simon. He moved out West and into an apartment in SE Portland with me. I had found my niche once again. And now, two and a half years later, I was still in the same spot and loving it just as much.

The golden hero just looked at the girl I now knew as Isabelle while she took in her surroundings. She looks so appalled at her actions. I choose this as the opportune time to speak up. "By the way, my name's not Kaelie. It happens to be Clary."

Isabelle turns back to me, her mouth hanging open like an oven door. She takes a step away from me and smooths down her skin tight jeans. "I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry," she begins.

"Don't worry about it. Just go kick Kaelie's ass," I cut her off. No use making Isabelle feel bad for her mistake. She nods, still dumbfounded and slides past Mr. Goldilocks over there and out the door, mortified.

My hero looks at me from the doorway. He flashes a brilliantly apologetic smile. "Well, I guess I'd better buy you a coffee or something, then." His eyes search mine from the distance.

I don't normally go on coffee dates with strangers, but strangers rarely burst into my apartment unannounced to save me from their revenge-driven sister and interrupt my breakfast.

I decide this is a special circumstance.

So, even though I'm still in pajamas, I reply, "I guess you should."

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><p><strong>Hope you guys liked it! I know it was short, but it was a pretty quick one. I hope to have another chapter up in about a week. Also thought you should know that this story will likely be switching perspectives between characters a lot, so just a heads up. There will be smut, but not until much later. Clary and her golden hero have to start somewhere. Please please review and let me know what you likeddidn't like and what you would like to see in the future.**

**-katethewriter**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, I got inspired, and IWriteNaked just so happened to be available, so this chapter is out six days early! Hope you guys like it!**

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><p>The coffee swirls in my cup, it's pale milky color giving a false impression of its strong taste. The woman behind the counter looked so taken aback when we gave our orders. One of us wanted one that was almost more milk than coffee, and no sugar; whereas the other wanted it black with heaping spoonfuls of sugar. She wrote down our orders, and naturally assigned the wrong name to each. So when I recieved a coffee loaded with sugar, I had to switch with Clary.<p>

To say it was a strange morning would be the understatement of the year. When I walked into my apartment (which was supposed to be empty) at 4 am, Kaelie was sitting ass-naked on my kitchen table. Normally this wouldn't be an issue. Except for the fact that she had Sebastian Verlac's dick balls-deep in her mouth. In _my _apartment. We don't even live together.

I wasn't even aware she had a _key_.

So I guess I kind of dodged a bullet on that one.

But that doesn't mean that it didn't hurt like a bitch. I'm not one to _ever_ open up about my feelings. I try not to even show them, so the fact that Isabelle could tell I was hurt actually does speak volumes. I didn't think she was "the one" or any shit like that. But when you come home to find your girlfriend of several weeks giving her _boss _a blowjob, it stings.

After coming home to that, I pretty much went ballistic. Sebastian, being the ignorant douche he is, asked me if he could at least finish before he had to leave. So I punched him in the balls and made it abundantly clear that I did not wish to see either of them again as long as I lived.

Then I immediately phoned Alec and told him what was happening. He mumbled and grumbled about it being 4:30 in the morning, but I was still technically on east coast time after my trip back to Manhattan.

I had been trying to visit one of my work colleagues, but he got viral meningitis the day I arrived.

This sort of threw a wrench in the plan, so I fucked the plan.

I spent the week walking around like the tourist I was not, and visited my original childhood home. I felt like I should have received some sort of closure, seeing as this visit was the first I had made since that last day there. But I had no such luck. The sight left me unnerved to say the least. The house had been foreclosed after the accident and the banks were all fighting over who could claim custody of it. Eventually they called it some sort of stalemate and abandoned it. It sat in worse condition this last week than I had left it in, and that's saying something.

When I hung up with Alec, he must have told Magnus who must have told Isabelle. I presume this because two hours later there's Izzy, dressed to the nines, and screaming at the wrong girl. Her screams and exasperated yells were so loud I heard them from my shower, which is on the opposite side of my apartment from the shared wall. So I hopped out, threw some cords and a black t-shirt on and rushed over.

Standing under the prowess that was Isabelle was this doe-eyed, red-haired fairy. Okay, she wasn't actually a fairy. But with the ethereal beauty that emanated off her, you'd think she was. Plus, her height doesn't really help either.

She looked like she was going to barf or cry or shrink in and collapse upon herself. Most likely all three, based on the intensity of Isabelle's anger. I decided to intervene. And now, here we are, an hour, $15, and an interesting conversation.

Clary takes small, silent sips of her sweet-as-shit coffee between sentences about her family. It turns out that we both started out in Manhattan, and both ended up here in Portland. But our moving circumstances were quite different. While she tells these long-winded, detailed accounts about her childhood, I keep mine as vague as possible without seeming creepy. Easy. Clary says something about having not met before. She asks me if I'm new to the building.

"It's funny you asked, because not at all. I was actually going to ask you the same thing," _no I wasn't._ "I've never seen you around the complex," _yes I have, but we're keeping up appearances here. _

Has she really never seen me? I pass by her all the time. I know that she always opens her windows, even when it's freezing outside. I know that she always locks her mailbox twice (she locks, unlocks, then relocks just to be sure). I know that she always orders pizza from the place down the street and gets only pepperoni.

Good lord, I sound like a stalker. I mean, I have lived next door to her for almost three years. Does that excuse it? I have a weird feeling that it doesn't.

I actually had a major crush on this girl for the first year and a half. Crush is honestly the only way to describe it. It wasn't like I wanted to pin her down and fuck her on the kitchen table like I did most girls. I wanted to get to know her, and the most intimate parts of her soul. I wanted to map out every freckle on her body, and know all of her secrets for which to remember them by. I wanted to search around her personality until I found the vibrant beauty that could match her hair. I wanted to lay in a field the color of her eyes and talk about the future. And _then_ I wanted to fuck her senseless on my kitchen table. When did I become such a sappy piece of shit?

So once I finally gained the courage to ask her out, I walked outside my door to knock on hers. Maybe what I was expecting to see was an empty hallway, or a hallway full of puppies, or even a naked woman begging for my attention. What I saw instead was a curly haired, lanky, jewish-looking nerd. In a tux. With roses in his hand. In front of Clary' s door. And he was sweating like a pair of balls on a beach. That was when I realized I had not thought of the possibility of a current boyfriend already.

So I pretended to be interested in—and picked up—the newspaper on my front porch. Then I strolled back inside. I have not attempted contact since then. I thought that maybe she had noticed the stunning hunk of blonde beauty that lived next door at some point in the last two and a half years, but apparently not. So here I was, looking like a fucking stalker talking to a girl that I know too much about, who didn't even know my name until 40 minutes, 2 wrong coffee orders, and two poppyseed muffins ago.

I get so nervous every time she tries to ask me a question. Her voice is forward and never wavers. It reminds me of the bells on the reindeer Maryse and Robert used to talk about at Christmas. Every time I open my mouth, I'm afraid she'll notice my chipped tooth. What if I come off as an arrogant prick? Well, I mean, I guess I _am _an arrogant prick. But what if it's _too _arrogant or too prickish?

I haven't been this self-conscious since the spelling bee in 8th grade. I had memorized that entire fucking list, and in the middle of that fucking mandatory assembly, when the eyes of every teacher and student were on me, they started using words that weren't on the motherfucking list. I placed second and won a fucking pencil. The word was episcopal.

What the fuck.

And the goddamn winner got a deluxe edition of Scrabble. She was a fucking ass-scented croc.

This is the moment I realized that I had just told this entire story out loud. Loudly. In a public coffee shop. I open my eyes expecting to see Clary appalled, or otherwise offended. But instead she's doubled over laughing her ass off. I decide I like Clary more than I thought.

"How does a croc go around becoming ass-scented?" She asks between breathless giggles.

"Well, it has to be in an asshole first of course," I answer, deadpan. She straightens her back and feigns seriousness.

"This is probably a very simple question, but I have proven insufficient in my knowledge of ass-crocs. Why would someone fuck themselves—or another—using a croc? Aren't there a multitude of other options?" She's good at this.

"Well, the answer is simple I suppose: crocs contain holes."

"I hope you don't mind me asking: what is the significance of the holes?" She has taken on a slight british accent and a pompous demeanor. She's _very_ good at this.

"Why, it provides ventilation of course."

Gone is her bell-ringing laugh. This is a full on guffaw. I decide I like Clary a _lot _more than I thought.

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><p>He just told a story about a girl who smells like ass-crocs. Why have I never met this guy?<p>

I mean, I've never _met _him per se. I always spy him in the hallway or when I'm getting my mail. Plus, his bedroom backs up against mine and he has a _very _squeaky bed frame. But I could never say any of that to him.

We keep up some fake-serious banter about said ass-crocs. Then he says something about ventilation and I completely lose my shit. My composed facade slips and I let out this laugh like a warthog. My face immediately burns bright red and I hide my face in my hands, laughing at myself from utter embarrassment.

I try to steer the conversation another way to take the focus off of my disgusting laugh. He must hate me now. Jace does not seem like the kind of guy to befriend a girl who laughs like that.

"I can't imagine trying to grow from infancy with a girl who gets that scary when she's mad," I say, awkwardly turning the conversation point to Isabelle. I see Jace tense up a little bit, and he isn't forthcoming with an answer. I've kind of noticed that he gets like this about his childhood. I wonder what could have made him that way. He seems to okay be talking about his mid-teen years, and everything after that, but I get the sense that his childhood is a touchy subject. I decide not to dwell on it and try to help him out a bit instead. "Because I mean, my brother could get mad, but I've never seen anger like that. Ooh, one time Jonathan got so mad I thought he was going to cry. My friends Jordan and Simon had come over—we were best friends up until I moved here—and Jordan was dicking around and swallowed Jonathan's goldfish. It was so crazy to watch. You could practically see the goldfish flailing around in his throat. Simon had only dared him to put it in his mouth. But once it got in there, it started flapping around, and Jordan gasped and it went down his throat. He tried to spit it out, but that only pushed it further down. And that's the story of how my friend swallowed a live animal."

"You sound like you had an interesting childhood," Jace replies wryly.

"I did, my friend, I did. I heard Jordan just recently got viral meningitis too. I wonder if the two events were related."

"No shit."

"No shit what?" I ask. Jace looks like he's seen a ghost. Or a naked Mark Twain. Or maybe Mark Twain's naked ghost.

"Your childhood friend doesn't happen to be Jordan Kyle does he?"

Holy shit. This guy knows Jordan? "Yeah, he is actually. We met on the first day of Kindergarten and he kissed me under the jungle gym and we've been friends ever since. How do you know him?" I ask.

"I actually work with him. He's like my best friend. I was just in Manhattan, supposed to be visiting him for some fun and he came down with viral meningitis." Jace looks so wowed. I can't say that I feel any different. "This is just insane, I've never had such a small-world kind of connection like that. I can't even believe it."

"We're talking about the same Jordan Kyle, right? Dark-skin, tattooed sleeves, swallowed a goldfish?"

"Exact same one," Jace replies. I can't even wrap my head around this. He fucking knows Jordan. We grew up within blocks of each other and then now live in the same complex and are friends with the same person across the moherfucking country. I've got to tell Jonathan. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out, and it reads: **Jonathan: (2) messages**.

Speak of the devil.

**Hey**

**Can you talk?**

I look up to Jace and try to figure out the answer to his question. Jace seems to be thoroughly enjoying his poppyseed muffin, but I don't want to miss out on anything. I decide to step out for a second. "Hey, Jace, could you give me a minute? I have to go make a quick call."

He nods with a smile that makes my knees feel like jelly.

I walk to the stretch of hallway that leads to the bathroom. I pull my phone back out and dials Jon's number.

He picks up on the first ring.

"_Hey, Riss."_

"Hey, Jonny." We both use the names we know the other can't stand.

"_What's going on over in the land of the lumberjacks? Have you found a steady salmon fisher to settle down with yet?"_

"You realize I live in a major metropolitan area with over 600,000 people in it, right?" I know he's teasing, but it still pushes my buttons a bit.

"_I know Claryyyy," _he draws out my name_, "I just want to check in. How are things really doing over there?" _

I laugh into the phone. "They're a little interesting over here." I tell him a condensed version of my morning and listen to his laughing. I even tell him about the ass-crocs.

"_Sounds to me like someone has a crush on their neighbor," _Jon teases. My cheeks blush red again and my eyes dart over to Jace at our table, as if he somehow could have heard Jon.

"I do _not _have a crush. He just is a nice pal."

"_A nice pal, you say." _There's a pause. "_Does pal secretly stand for Passionate Anal Lover, perhaps?"_

"Oh good God, Jon. I'm hanging up," I laugh.

"_You know I love you, Clary. I'll talk to you soon." _

"Mm-hmm." I say, hanging up.

I look back over toward my table, and see Jace sipping at his coffee and conversing easily with the waitress who comes over to top off my drink.

He leans back in his chair and I can see the muscles ripple in his arm, and the little quirk of his dimple that transitions his smirk into full-blown smile. His golden hair is magnified by his black t-shirt, and I find some jealousy flaring a bit in my stomach. Am I paranoid, or did the waitress just ask Jace for his number?

Maybe I _do _have a little crush.

No, no. I am smart and sensible. That was just plain delusional. There is no way in hell that—_wait: she _did _just ask for his number. _

Okay, I have a crush. What in the world have I gotten myself into?

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review and check out IWriteNaked if you haven't already.<strong>

**-katethewriter**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, all! I'm back again. I'm sorry this chapter is so late, but as many of you have heard, I haven't had the best few days. Plus, I had to type the majority of this on a school computer which was slightly embarassing.**

**Don't talk about it.**

**Anyways, I'm super stunned by the response! I wasn't expecting much out of this story, but I've already got some great reviews, so thank you to those of you that have. I tried to send a PM to each of you guys, but by all means please let me know if I missed you.**

**To the reviewer named "too much cuss", I'm not sure if you were unaware, but "bad wordes" absolutely make me cool. So fuck you :)**

**To the guest reviewers, I can't reply personally so this is the best I can do. Thank you, your support and kind words really mean a lot. **

**Thanks again to IWriteNaked for beta'ing, even though she probably had much better things to do than read my story (like write her own super good ones). Please check her out if you haven't already!**

_**Cautionary Trigger Warning: vomit and vomiting. If you have any anxiety or phobia regarding this matter, I would steer clear of the last third of the chapter. H**_**ate to give stuff away, but I value readers' safety and well being above all else.**

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><p>All common sense apparently thrown out the window, I march straight back over to our table. The waitress is tall and blonde and has impeccably straight teeth that are so white they could blind you. I decide she is just Jace's type. So, I take the natural course of action. I throw my arm around his shoulder and lean my face in really close to his as if I'm about to kiss him. And then I pull away slightly, and turn towards this waitress.<p>

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?" I ask, feigning innocence. I give her a sweet smile and straighten my posture, never removing my hand from Jace's shoulder. I guess it's technically closer to the crook of his neck, but those are minor details.

She seems to see right through it, for she grinds her teeth and scrunched her nose up one side in anger.

"Oh, no. I was just asking if Jace wanted a refill, and he said he would LOVE one." She smiles passive-aggressively, the hidden connotations to her words so raw and apparent that I want to shove her tongue down her own throat. She can see that I'm angry, and she appears to be relishing in it. I hate this goddamn woman with her blonde hair and smug voice and perfect boobs. I want perfect boobs. Thinking of the unfairness in boob creation fuels my fire a bit more, and I choke out something snarky that I should instantly regret. But I don't.

"While you're at it, could you get me one too? It's black with four sugars." My charade is so obvious, my smile so fake, but I haven't been bitchy in a while and sometimes you've just got to let the inner bitch out. I can practically see steam rolling off of her, she's so angry. Just for good measure, I sit myself on the edge of Jace's lap and wave my fingers at her dismissively. She pivots on her heel and stalks off, hips shaking with each furious step.

"That was so cool! I haven't had such a raw bitch experience in so long. The last time this happened was when I bitched out Simon's old girlfriend about not supporting his music. My adrenaline levels are so high, that was long overdue." I ramble and ramble, my smile beaming. A new waiter comes out with my coffee, a dark-haired man. He smiles at me, and mouths a silent 'thank you' as well. I guess I'm not the only one who smelled the sour incense of bitch rolling off that girl. Bitchcense.  
>"Did you see that?" I ask Jace, whipping my head in his direction, and looking at his eyes. Their gold-and-brown flecked irises kept focusing and defocusing, like the lens of a camera that couldn't quite figure out what it was trying to capture. His mouth was hanging slightly open, and he obviously wasn't listening. I got slightly angry, then remembered I was still sitting directly in Jace's lap. Oops.<p>

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><p>Holy shit, she's about to kiss me. Her face is right by mine, and her breath smells like vanilla from the muffins and mint toothpaste and sugar and I stop breathing. My heart is beating erratically and with her hand resting right at the crook of my neck. I'm momentarily afraid she'll feel my pulse. She stops suddenly and pulls away, and I worry that maybe she did feel my pulse. Or maybe I have coffee breath. Shit, do I smell okay? Did I put on deodorant? I mean, I know I brushed my teeth, but I pulled these jeans off the ground in my rush to get next door. When was the last time I washed them? Or maybe she's suddenly regretting her actions. Maybe she thought I was someone else? All the possibilities are racing through my brain. There are at least 12 trillion things that could be wrong with me in this moment. I'm about to cry from the stress of the analyzation when she decides to sit in my lap.<p>

She's sitting in my fucking lap. Holy fucking shit.

Her red curls cascade down her back, and some of the wilder stray strands rest against the hollow of my throat. They tickle and I'm afraid I might squirm from the strange sensation. Her tiny little body is perched on top of mine. Okay, that sounds a bit more sexual than the reality. But still, her ass is on my leg.

All of my training in life has prepared for this one moment. I concentrate entirely on not getting a boner as a self-satisfied chuckle vibrates through her body, and is transferred to mine. My whole leg tingles with the sensation. My mind is moving at a tempo no maestro could match, and I'm trying to slow it down to focus on something other than the ass on my leg and the hair at the hollow of my throat and the silver laugh of the girl these belong to. I try to focus on anything other than her. Something that happens to be a turnoff would be nice too. I think about that weird homeless man who stood by Voodoo Doughnuts the other day. I think about how he smelled like urine and heroin and his white shirt was wet with something unidentifiable. He was definitely pretty gross. But then my second brain derails the train that was this old man, and instead latched onto the wet white shirt part. And then there's Clary, in a wet shirt. I can feel myself practically twitching. I'm a failure. I think about the time Max shit his pants when he was in third grade, and I had to bring him my gym shorts because Maryse wasn't home. That is in no way sexual or arousing. But then I think of gym shorts and then gym and then locker rooms, and then there's Clary in a locker room. And the shower's running and other girls are giggling, and she's sweaty and good God someone kill me now.

Suddenly, her small weight is lifted from my right leg, and she gasps. It is enough to break me out of my locker room reverie. I take a quick look down at my lap, hopefully inconspicuously, and find that I'm doing okay. It was cutting it close though, another half-minute and I could have been mortified beyond hope of reprieve.

Clary's cheeks are blushing profusely and she seems to be having trouble meeting my eyes. "Sorry, I didn't even realize I was still sitting in your lap," she gushes.

"Don't worry about it," I reply with a dismissive flop of my hand and a chuckle, "Really, it's fine." Because it was fine. Damn, was it fine. To be truthful it was about a hundred million billion times better than fine, but I didn't need to scare her away.

She clears her throat, obviously uncomfortable, so I decide to steer the conversation onto me. She visibly relaxes as I start talking about my family. I tell her about my two brothers: Alec and Max. "Alec is my best friend in the world. Jordan's a close second, but I don't think he'll ever really compare to Alec. We were inseparable in Junior High and he stuck by me while I got taunted for my New York accent -" oh no, a slip-up. I decided to just continue as before, and try to gloss it over "- and then I stuck by him in high school when he was getting bullied. The slurs they used weren't even clever, they were just brutal and straight to the point. They got bad enough that when he turned eighteen over the summer before senior year, he un-enrolled and got his GED online. Which is good, in many respects, because without doing that he wouldn't have met Magnus. And they've been together ever since. Almost 6 years."

"I dropped out of high school early too," Clary interjected. "I wanted to go to art school, but my parents couldn't find a way to fit it into the budget. So, when I got offered a full ride at an early admissions school in New York, I had my bags packed in seconds. I started halfway through my sophomore year in highschool and finished just before I turned twenty. And now, here I am." She gives me a warm smile. I smile back. "Sorry, you said you had a younger brother too?" she asks.

"Now Max," I continue, "he has the most effervescent personality of any kid I've ever met. And he's growing up so fast. I mean, he's a sophomore in high school already. The time sure flew by. He lives out in the 'burbs with Maryse. He's already looking at colleges out in New England - Ivy Leagues and what not. He's got the brains to do it, too. That kid's smarter than me. And he reads more than any other kid his age. He's got this lanky little build and his glasses always seem to be too big around his gray eyes. It's got to be the most endearing thing in the world." I could feel my smile growing just thinking of Max. His constant state of happiness seemed to be so contagious.

"He sounds a lot like my friend, Simon. He was my friend growing up, like I said earlier. He has this infectious grin and such a dry sense of humor sometimes you don't even recognize it. But he is also the geekiest son of a bitch on this side of the Mississippi," Clary filled me in. Her eyes twinkle when she talks about people she cares about. It's like the sudden sprouting of daisies in an otherwise green expanse of grass.

"Who's the biggest geek on the other side of the Mississippi?" I ask, a coy smirk on my face.

"Bobby Fischer," she answers immediately.

"Where is he?" I prompt.

"I don't know, I don't know," she responds. She's got a smile like she's about to laugh, but is holding it back. I wish she wouldn't. I really like to hear her laugh.

"Other than Alec, I didn't have too many friends growing up. Well, I had Izzy of course. But man, is she a piece of work. I love her to death, don't get me wrong; and there is nothing in this world I wouldn't do for her in a heartbeat. But she can be quite the handful."

"How so?" Clary says, her cheeks crinkling around her cheekbones with her teasing smile. She knows all too well how so after this morning.

"Well, she was quite the flirt in junior high and high school. But she was never tied down. A lot of summer flings, a lot of fall flings, a lot of winter flings, quite a few spring flings. I mean, you've got to hand it to her: she got herself set up. She would stay with someone just long enough for them to think they were the one and buy her something expensive, or parade her around in a nice car, or take her to a fancy dinner, and then it wasn't them it was her. But she is also one of the most fiercely loyal and grudgingly independent people I've ever met." I smile at Clary's warm glow. "I'm sure you've observed the fiercely loyal part."

Clary's phone buzzes again, this time from its spot on the floor on top of her jacket. She bends over to check who it is and her t-shirt falls open a bit, the flannel not covering anything. I look away to be polite, but I still have to concentrate on Max's shitting incident to keep cool.

"Sorry," she mutters, "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." She types something into her phone, sending a text. She finishes, shuts it off and lightly tosses it back down on top of her rain-jacket. She picks a piece of fuzz off the knee of her black leggings and crosses her legs. That's when I remember I had plans to meet with Max. I check my watch quickly, and realize that unless traffic is miraculously bad, I should have a couple more minutes before I really have to leave. I do a quick check out the rain-stained window and see the cars moving like snails. For a city with gray skies six and a half days out of seven, the residents still don't know how to drive in the rain. At least they aren't honking every second of the day, like New Yorkers. They're all fairly calm and polite. I turn to Clary, an apology forming on my lips. But she looks as though she has one of her own.

"I just remembered I have to go meet Max," I say, as Clary simultaneously says, "I totally forgot that I'm supposed to meet Simon."

We laugh at our similar excuses and stand up together. Clary reaches down to pick up her jacket and she looks like a tiny bird reaching for a twig for her nest. I grab and eat the last bit of my scone, and then start walking toward the door with Clary.

"You know, I actually had a really great time with you, Clary. I wish we had done this earlier. I didn't realize what enlightening conversations I was missing out on. I mean, ass crocs and swallowed goldfish? Totally missing out." I look at her, expecting to laugh again, but she has a strange look of utter concentration on her face. She's clutching her stomach a bit, and her face is even whiter than it was a moment ago. Actually, it's starting to look a little greenish. As though she might-

"Shit!"

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><p>I just vomited on Jace's shoes. I just vomited on Jace's shoes. Lord kill me now.<p>

I only faintly recognize, deep in my mind that I yelled an expletive in a coffee shop. I'm a bit more preoccupied with the fact that I just fucking THREW UP ON JACE'S SHOES.

I want to curl in a ball and cease to exist. But if I curl up in a ball here, I am going to get vomit in my hair. From the vomit on Jace's shoes. That just spewed from my mouth. I want desperately to cry. Or scream. Or run away.

To do anything at all except stand here in my own vomit watching the shock register on Jace's face. But then he does something I wasn't expecting.

He laughs out loud.

This is unlike the quiet, husky chuckle of conversation. This is a deep, throaty, resounding laugh that fills the room entirely. Anyone that didn't look up when the deed was done, they sure are looking now.

We must look like absolute maniacs. One of us is about to cry, the other is laughing like a man whose life depends on it, and we're both standing in a pool of bile and coffee and flecks of poppyseed. I look up at Jace, completely awed by his behavior. But his whole body is shaking with the laughter. His grin is reaching his ears, and his eyes are alight like the candles of a little kid's birthday cake. There is so much raw emotion and mortification surging through me, the only thing my body can seem to do is laugh with him.

We definitely look like maniacs.

"You bitched out that waitress and she poisoned your coffee!" He shouts, seemingly unaware that said waitress is staring at us from the counter. No one else has moved. "She fucking poisoned your coffee! This is hilarious! Why did you even bitch her out in the first place?" He's still shaking with waves of laughter.

"I thought she was hitting on you and so I stormed over and told her not so subtly to back off," I answer. I don't dwell on the fact that I just confessed being jealous over him. Maybe he won't notice.

"Well, you might want to call Simon: I have a feeling this will take a little while."

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><p><strong>Please don't forget to review and let me know what you think! I love hearing from you guys. Next chapter should be up by Friday if all goes as planned.<strong>

**Thanks for reading :)**

-katethewriter


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi, hi everybody! Sorry I'm a little late. I'm shooting for weekly updates, preferably on Mondays. (Might switch to Tuesdays in the near future.) I would like to publicly thank my beta IWriteNaked for the shout-out she gave me! It was such a pleasant surprise and I'm totally grateful for it. Check her out and read her stories!**

**Enjoy~**

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><p>I only threw up three more times that hour. Jace had offered to hold my hair back for me, but I hadn't cleaned my bathroom in too long, and the dried toothpaste on the mirror was not precisely what I wanted him to remember me by...<p>

Although I would take that over crazy-neighbor-girl-that-threw-up-on-me-in-public in a heartbeat.

So, Jace preoccupied himself with making me hot tea and then calling the manager, then the regional manager to make sure that the waitress's deeds were at least known to the general public. Apparently she had confessed to Jace on the phone that it was her, then cried, then asked him if he would rather spend time with her than the crazy-neighbor-girl-that-threw-up-on-him-in-public.

He politely declined.

Simon had shown up only ten minutes after us. I wanted to introduce them properly, but it was hard to lead a conversation with vomit projecting out of your mouth.

I wholly expected Jace to leave after Simon arrived. I wouldn't have wanted to hang out with someone who was practically a stranger to me while they were barfing. But hey, to each their own, I guess. He had left only once, and it was to grab a clean pair of socks and some slippers. Then he was back, and even though I had to sit with a bucket by my side, Jace Simon and I sat on the couch and watched Freaks & Geeks. He told me that Sam Weir was the spitting image of Max in Junior High. I had to laugh. I told him I was a pretty close match to Millie Kentner. He laughed too.

"I'm definitely Jeff-the guidance counselor. Can't you see it, Clary? We're practically twins," Jace says with a wink that makes my tummy fill with butterflies. Wait, those aren't butterflies.

I heave into the bucket again.

"Sounds like Max and I are pretty similar," Simon grumbles. He is being quite contrary today. It's weird for him. He never grumbles in my presence.

My phone vibrates from the counter. Jace stands up off the plush, plaid chair to grab it for me. Once his weight is removed, the cushion of the chair slowly rises higher up to the sky, like an umbrella on a rainy day.

"It's Jonathan," he reads out. "He wants to know how you feel."

"Like bits of regurgitated worm from a mother bird's mouth," I deadpan. Jace makes a face as though he's tasted something sour, but then it rights itself and he begins typing it into my phone for me.

We've come quite far in the few hours we've known each other. And it's odd, because I'm usually not so quick to make friends. Not that I don't want to make friends quickly, I just always worry about being offensive or the possibility of conflicting personality traits, or I could accidentally say something ignorant and there would be no way for me to fix it. So I don't make friends too quickly, too easily. Except Jace makes it very easy. He fills the silences when I don't know how to, and he knows how to accept silence without any awkwardness.

He's a healthy conversational partner.

When Freaks and Geeks is over, Jace offers to make me soup. I accept with a grin, and Simon scoots closer to me on the couch. The vomiting seems to have gone down to a minimum, and Simon strikes up conversation. We talk about me and my morning and Jace laughs from the kitchen, and interjects when I'm "Not telling it right." Simon laughs almost the whole way through, excluding the part where I yelled at the waitress. I thought it was funny. I don't know why he doesn't. What's with the sour expression on his face? Jace is silent too, but for the clearing of his throat once.

After we talk about me for what I deem too long, I turn the conversation on Simon. He tells me about school and how it's going: he's still taking the night courses at Portland State while focusing on his music in the day. Simon has had a dream since he was four that he wanted to play bass in a superstar rock band. Everyone always laughed at his silly ideas, but once he moved out here it became a reality. Simon met his other band members at a record store on Burnside.

At least that's where he'd met Eric. Eric is now just the drummer, but when they'd first started out he tried to also do vocals. It didn't turn out too pretty. So, they put up posters all over the city. And after hours of auditions, they'd found Kirk, Matt, and Tyler. Tyler is such a wannabe hipster, it almost hurts to be around him. He wore exclusively things found on the mannequins at Urban Outfitters and he confessed to not needing glasses, even though he wears his square Ray Bans everyday. His personality wasn't easy to swallow either. But he can sing and that's all they were really looking for.

And to be honest, they are actually pretty amazing.

He says that the band was meeting three times a week now, which is definitely improving the sound. I am really happy for him. He tells me work is going well (he works as a waiter at a nearby high end restaurant and I swear it's the only reason he has a clean haircut) and that he's just gotten a promotion. He doesn't say to what, and I don't know what there was between waiter and manager, but I am happy for him all the same.

"Have you talked to Jordan lately?" Simon asks me. "I tried to call him a little less than a week ago and he said he couldn't talk, that he had _viral meningitis. _Can you believe that? It was just so weird."

Jace comes in then with my soup poured into a mug. He hands me the spoon before turning to talk to Simon. "Actually yeah, he has viral meningitis. He looked like hell."

Simon looks at Jace as though he had a second head. "As if you would know, I'm talking about someone who lives in _New York_." I guess I'd forgotten that part of my story.

"Simon, it's the funniest thing," I begin. I fill him in on the whole story, and it only seems to make him grumpier with Jace. I can not figure it out.

But it is short lived, for a few minutes later Simon grumbles something about band practice and leaves.

"Sorry he was being so weird," I say to Jace. "Usually he's more friendly. I don't know what was up with him." Jace shrugs as if it meant nothing to him, and then turns to me.

A grin lights up all his features like the jumbotrons in Times Square. "Do you want to play an icebreaker game?"

"Hate to burst your bubble, but I'm pretty sure the ice got broken a while ago. We have already been together in sickness and in health, for better and for worse. We're a bit past introductions at this point."

"It will be fun," he promises. And so I play.

He explains the rules: he can ask me any question he wants and I have to give an honest answer. Kind of like the truth part of truth or dare. Except any question we ask we also have to answer ourselves. That's the catch. Somehow I didn't think this would be seen as a catch to Jace, more like an added plus.

What is the biggest thing you've ever put in your mouth?"" Jace asks me with a smirk and a gleam of his gold-flecked eyes.

I should have seen something like this coming, but still I can't hold back the blush in my cheeks. I open my mouth to speak but then vehemently close it again. This is embarrassing. "I got dared to shove an entire Captain Kirk action figure in my mouth in college. I was only 17. It was embarrassing to say the least. Now you," I prompt.

"I put a seven inch long, two inch diameter dildo in my mouth in my junior year of high school." He is extremely smug, and I suddenly realize he asked the question for the sole purpose of being able to answer it. I reply to his smug grin with my own equally amused one.

Then I ask my question, "Okay then, what is your favorite food?" I was going for subtle innocence and actual curiosity.

"You've got to be kidding me, this is such an easy one! I like fried rice. But not this sad excuse for it in the PacNW. I mean like real, good fried rice sold in a hole-in-the-wall Chinese place in Manhattan that makes you need to wash your hands and question if your sense of smell will ever be the same." I smile at his description. I know exactly what he is talking about.

"Mine is probably chicken Parmesan. When the cheese is melty and the sauce is sweet but rich, and the chicken is breaded and crispy but also like still moist. Oh god, it's good."

"What is your most vivid sexual fantasy?" Jace asks with a waggle of his eyebrows.

I groan and throw the couch pillow over my eyes. I try desperately to keep from blushing bright red, but it is basically impossible.

"I'll go first if it'll make you feel better," he says. When I nod my head vigorously, he begins, "it was right after High School Musical came out." Already I knew I was in for a surprise. "Izzy was super into it, saying she wanted to marry Troy and all that. So, she had me watch it with her one day, and I obliged. And goddamn was Gabriella smoking. I could just imagine her in all her glory with her hair down and that shy smile on her face as she—"

"That's enough!" I interrupt quickly. He looks at me expectantly. My turn. My freckles must be all but indiscernible past the tomato red hue of my skin. I am mortified. "Okay, when I was 15, I used to think about—"

"_Fantasize, _Clary," Jace interrupts.

"_Fantasize,_" I repeat, still horrendously mortified, "about Justin Timberlake." I swallow a large lump in my throat. "I mean, he was unheard from for most of the year and then dropped his album, and every girl I knew just went crazy and his looks and his voice, and ugh. It was too much." I suddenly find a boost of courage, "But I also had a _huge_ crush on Jordan. I asked him to Homecoming freshman year, and he actually said yes. I was so surprised. But then he broke his leg two weeks before and he couldn't fit any long pants over his cast so he couldn't go. It was really embarrassing because I had already bought a dress and everything. So that happened."

"Do you mean to tell me that you fantasized about Jordan Kyle?"

"No! I did not _fantasize_ about him, oh my god. That's disgusting! I mean, I thought about kissing him a couple times, but _no!_" I couldn't keep the look off my face. It was basically as if he'd asked if I ever fantasized about Jonathan. God, no. "If you had a million balloons, what would you do with them?" Even Helen Keller would be able to discern the stark differences between our questions.

"Easy. I would buy a zoo employee outfit and sell them at the zoo. With the get-up and the location, I would look like I was affiliated with the zoo, and mothers would feel more obligated to buy one for their tiny little people and I would easily make money. Plus, once you step inside the entrance of any zoo or amusement park, you automatically get to charge twice what you would outside. It's common fact."

I shake my head at him and smile despite myself. Where does he come up with stuff like that? "I would probably try to float with them; I mean, I've always wanted to fly. To feel the wind in my hair and the sting in my eyes and be able to see the land expanse below me. Could you imagine having a view like that to paint? It would be extraordinary." He looks at me like he is seriously considering my answer for something.

"How, when, where, and to whom did you lose your virginity?" I guess we are back to the Jace-type questions.

"I lost my virginity on my seventeenth birthday to some dick-hole named Sebastian. He was just some slimy weirdo that made me feel special for twenty minutes, and knew exactly what to do and say to get into my pants. It was quick and it was boring and it hurt. He didn't even take me somewhere nice or anything. It was in his friend's dorm." I used to not like talking about that night, but then I realized that virginity is just some weird Pagan ideal and plot to demean and continuously strip the power of women. So, now it doesn't bother me too much.

"I lost mine in my own car on the top floor of a parking garage when I was seventeen. It would have been a really cool experience had the girl remembered my name twenty minutes after. She was a college girl from out of town and we met at a concert. She did to me what Sebastian did to you, and used me for a fun night. Oh well, I could think of a few I would rather have lost it to, but I guess we don't always get to choose who to love."

I want to ask my question, but I can't quite think of one, and the silence seems almost too static to interrupt. So, I don't. Jace looks thoughtful about something for a minute before he inhales deeply and smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. Something about his words had a double meaning. Like he didn't only mean love in the physical sense.

He's looking at my hands resting in my lap and now that I am aware of his gaze I can't stop fidgeting them. He then looks slowly up to my eyes. I want to fidget some more, maybe avert his gaze, but it is like I physically can't. Something is binding me in my spot. His eyes are so searching that I can't look away from them. So, I don't . We stare at each other for what feels like eons, the room silent but for the pattering of rain against the window. It patters there like drummers in a marching band that can't quite follow the music correctly.

I am so lost in the amber relics interspersed in his otherwise honey colored eyes. They seem so rich, like if you jumped in them it would take hours before you sank all the way to the bottom of them. I can't find a single flaw in his radiant, beautiful face. Not one.

"Quite a few people," he murmurs. My head is filled with gauze like a new bottle of pills; sealed for freshness, but not quite exempt from shaking around. His words confuse me, and I can't quite remember what we were talking about only a few moments ago. And then he tilts his face ever so slightly to the right. And then his face is moving in towards mine. He is going to kiss me. Goddamn it, Jace is about to kiss me.

I have to stop him! I have puke breath! But I don't want to stop him. Who care about puke breath anyway? So instead, I just tilt my face ever so slightly too and I let him come. And when we are just close enough that I can feel the zips of electricity shooting out from his skin, my phone rings loud and shrill on the table.

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><p><strong>Clary, <em>everyone<em> cares about puke breath! I have to sign off now because I need to be up at 5 am. Ew.**

**Hope you guys liked it. Don't forget to review!**

**-katethewriter**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi guys! Sorry for the wait! I had it done and beta'd last night, but I decided to wait one more day to post because...**

**today is my 16th birthday! Eeeeeeeeeep!**

**I'm super excited and it's really great and I thought I'd share a bit of my excitement by giving you guys a new chapter. Enjoy!**

(P.S. _Italics_ are for phone calls. The dialogue in _italics_ is on the other end of the phone. There was confusion about that the last time I did it.)

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><p>Her lips look perfect, like they've been sculpted by Gods. I am so caught up in thoughts of her that I don't even notice myself closing the distance between us. Not until she tilts her head and her eyes flutter closed.<p>

Shit, I'm going to kiss her. And she's going to let me. And it's like the whole room melts away and it's just the two of us and her eyelashes are so long! And her mouth is hanging open just enough that I can see her teeth glinting and I think I'm going to pee my pants.

This is not how I should be acting, for Christ's sake! I am a man, and a strong muscular testosterone-filled man at that! I should not be internally squealing.

This is unacceptable.

But she's right there! And she's going to kiss me back! Why am I moving so slowly? I need to speed this shit up.

This has got to be good. I can feel her breath on my lips and it's just so beautifully...unpleasant? Oh well, I'll survive. I can feel tendrils of anticipation rolling from my lips to hers. Our noses are just starting to interlock, and then the shrill ringing of a telephone cuts us off.

The room swirls back into focus, and she flies away like the bird whose stature she's always resembled. I stay exactly where I am, trying and failing to conceal the disappointment that must be as clear as day on my face.

I blink slowly and inhale through my nose. The unpleasant smell from a moment ago I now recognize as the lingering hint of vomit. Lovely. The popcorn bucket rests just next to my hand, so I grab it and stand up to take it out to the garbage outside. I give Clary a little wave as I stalk out the door and she looks at me apologetically as she holds her phone up to her ear.

I step from her apartment out into the cold hallway. Clary's apartment is the end cap of the building, so she has twice the number of windows that I do. I'm totally jealous of all the natural light that she gets. The air is damp, but pleasantly so. I walk down the hall, past my own door and to the garbage chute at the far end, right next to the staircase leading down to the first floor and the parking lot. I'm grateful for the slight chill in the air, for its keeping my head clear.

I almost kissed Clary.

My head was mere centimeters from hers and she was letting me almost kiss her.

I'm glad however that it didn't actually happen; I mean, I've had a crush on this girl long enough to know that our first kiss—if we have one—should not be over a bucket of vomit on the first day we've sustained real conversation. I don't want Clary to be some kind of fling. I know I sound like a sappy loser, but I want this to be meaningful. She deserves more than a one-night-stand.

I finish pacing and, though I want to, I don't head back into Clary's place. I decide I need to clear my head, and the cool air is definitely helping.

**this is a line break it wouldn't let me do one so i had to improvise**

_"Clare-Bear! I feel like we haven't talked in forever! I hope I'm not interrupting anything, I just really need to tell you something." _His voice is as smooth as ever despite the obvious excitement in it.

"No, Jordan," I reply. "You didn't interrupt anything." Uh, yes you did. But I can't tell you that. "What's going on?"

_"Try to contain your excitement..." _

"Excitement equals contained," I reply, though that is most certainly a lie. For one, I've never heard him this ecstatic on the phone before. The second reason is something that I don't care to say out loud.

_"I'm coming to visit!"_ he sings. I squeal directly into the phone.

"HolyshitJordanareyoukiddingmeohmyGod!" I breathe it into the phone as if it is one word. My God, does my breath stink.

_"One hundred percent serious,"_ he breathes, his voice like liquid caramel. _"I've been looking at the rates for a while and talking with Simon. I was originally going to wait until a few months from now, but I just had to stand up my buddy on account of my viral meningitis and he lives out there, too. So I thought I'd hit two birds with one stone. I was planning to stay at Simon's but Eric has to crash there this weekend instead so I don't have a place to stay…."_

"Jordan, are you kidding? Of course you do! You're staying at my place. I can't believe this. It's been so long, I can't fucking believe it!" I am on the verge of peeing my pants. I haven't seen Jordan in person since I moved. We have videochatted plenty of times, but I have not seen him in the flesh in two and a half years.

_"I know, I know! I land on Friday at three." _

"Jordan, that's five days away!"

_"I know! I'm sorry for the short notice. I wasn't planning on telling you at all until I was standing at your doorstep, but now that I don't really have a place to stay it makes things a bit more complicated."_

"I can't believe you weren't going to tell me. What if I opened the door nude not knowing it was you?"

_"I don't see how that would be a problem."_ I can practically see the smirk on his face. _"Although I hope you don't make it a habit of opening the door nude."_

"You wish," I reply with a wink, without thinking of the fact that I am alone in my living room and that I just winked to my wall. God, I'm an idiot. "Well what's new, Jor-dandy? I mean aside from the viral meningitis?" I feel like I'm going to burst I'm so happy. My best friend of my whole childhood is going to be here in five days. Holy shit. I think I'm going to piss out of my eyeballs I'm so excited.

"_Not much has been happening with me, honestly. I mean, aside from the viral meningitis. I quit my shit side job. Finally."_

"Well that's super exciting!" Jordan had always been working freelance for a company that he really loved and enjoyed. The only problem was the less-than-lovable pay.

So, to have a little spending money he had been working at this "living museum" just outside the city. He basically went in and pretended to be a colonial citizen from 8 am to 7 pm every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday. It was embarrassing, to say the least. And if you think that's bad, well the manager was a sixty-five year old bearded Armenian woman that hated him and spit whenever she talked.

I had the misfortune to meet her a few times, and she was arguably the scariest human being on this planet. She was always on Jordan's ass about his tattoos and his frequent tardiness and his constant on-the-job flirting with the other Federalists. He had hated it since the day he'd started. But it paid decently enough that he had food to eat, and so he'd just grin and bear it. I guess he decided to stop grinning.

"But how are you able to afford it?"

"_Well, I've been saving up long enough that I have a sufficient cushion that should last me a while." _

"That makes sense," I reply.

"_Hey, you know what, Clare-bear? I actually have to go. I'm going to call a buddy from work and let him know I'm coming to town. I'll talk to you soon."_

"Okay," I reply, "love youuuu!" I drag out the word the way I know tugs on his little heartstrings.

"_Love you toooo,"_ he says. "_Mwah!"_ Is the final ring before the line cuts off.

With nothing else to do, I decide to hop up and brush my teeth. Lord knows my breath could probably knock a man dead at this point. And to think I almost kissed Jace with breath like this. Then I remind myself I'm not going to think about almost kissing Jace. That's the only way I know how to cope. Shove it under the rug until it is imperative that I think about it. And maybe not even then.

I brush my teeth quickly and walk back into the living room. I instinctively grab the blankets draped across the couch and throw them over the arm. Looking out the window, I sit down in my favorite spot and clutch a pillow between my arms. I'm knocked from my reverie by the opening of the door, followed by an excited cry of expletives.

"No fucking shit!" Jace calls. He has this large lopsided grin on his face and his eyes are alight. He looks at me and holds up his hand, pointing to his cell phone. He mouths the word _Jordan_ to me.

"Of course," I mutter smacking my forehead with my hand. "I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner." Jace is Jordan's other friend that he's coming out to see.

I smile as Jace and Jordan finish their conversation. He hangs up the phone with an excited, "See you soon, asshole!"

He claps his hands together and looks at me with the expression of a child on Christmas morning.

"You will not believe this shit," Jace says. He holds his phone in the air. "Jordan is coming out to Portland! He's going to be here on Friday. He's staying with some childhood friend, but…" I watch as the realization dawns on him. I am said childhood friend. "Shit, man. This weekend is going to be beyond dope."

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it! Sorry its so short after such a long wait. It looks like there will be another long one though, because I have dress rehearsals every night and then opening night this week for a musical. I'll try to write as much as possible, but the next two weeks might be pretty slow.<strong>

**Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!**

**-katethewriter**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi guys! This one is unbeta'd because it's just so late. Once it was finished to the point that I considered it post-worthy, I uploaded it. This means all mistakes are mine. Regardless, don't forget to check out IWriteNaked. She's written some oneshots lately that are amazing. I particularly like chapter 2 of Brohomie. **

**Happy reading and don't forget to review!**

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><p>The next forty-eight hours or so go by extremely slowly.<p>

Simon has been busy with the band, which has left me entirely lonely. Simon's quite excited though, because the band has a really big gig coming up and tickets are almost sold out and everything.

This left me sitting here lonely and although it's probably silly, I feel weird asking to get together with Jace. I pour myself some coffee and reach for the jar of sugar. We shared one whirlwind of a day, and when he went home after his phone call with Jordan, things seemed awkward and stagnant. I didn't know what kind of ground I was on with him, and although we had exchanged numbers and lived two feet from each other, I couldn't bring myself to talk to him.

I feel the sluggishness of the spoon start to subside as I stir and the sugar dissolves. I take two long sips, hoping that the caffeine will somehow keep the dark circles away but I know they won't.

I was woken up last night by Jace's squeaky bed frame through the wall. It was definitely not the first time it had woken me up. I couldn't even count the squeaks I had heard before. But this was the first time that I couldn't sleep again afterward. I don't know why it hurt my feelings to hear the creaking. It sounds dumb even as I think it. It's not like I had any claim on him.

We aren't even friends, are we? His sister yelled at me and then I threw up on him. It was nothing more than that. I'm just the weird girl next door who is too invested in Freaks and Geeks and has puke breath.

So why does it hurt so much to hear that squeaking?

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><p>"Are you fucking kidding me? You're fucking kidding me. What the actual goddamn fuck?"<p>

I would say I'm speechless but that's not true. I am capable of speech, but these are the only words I can actually get out. I took the late shift at work again, and I am entirely fucking exhausted. My bones feel too heavy and my eyes sting when I open them and I am so fatigued that I started nodding off at a red light on the way here. So when I come home all I really want is to flop down on my bed and hibernate until the year 2030. And when shit gets in the way of my hibernation, I tend to get pissed.

And when the shit getting in the way of my hibernating is my ex-girlfriend fucking her boss in my bed, I tend to get really fucking pissed.

But not speechless.

Which I honestly should be, because this bitch should not have a goddamn fucking key. And why the fuck would she do it here? She has her own place, her crusty ass boss has his own place, and neither of those places are mine.

Honestly, I should have been alerted to her presence by the creaking of my bed frame, but I was so fucking tired I hardly even processed it. But shit has been processed now, and I am ready to shoot a man. I'm so pissed I could stab a demon with some kind of crystal I mean, let's be real, who the fuck would do that? You know what, now that I think of it, I wouldn't put some crazy ass shit like that past Kaelie. She seems to be pretty good at doing shit completely out of left fucking field.

Sebastian Fuck-tard Verlac grunts and comes as I finish speaking. From the flush on Kaelie's face and her labored breathing, I can tell she must have just recently finished as well. I throw up in my mouth a bit. Sebastian rolls off her and looks up at me, as if just now noticing I'm there. He raises an eyebrow and smirks, "She really is good in the sack, isn't she, buddy?"

I contemplate grabbing him by his overly-large ears and throwing him through the wall, but I don't want to disturb Clary too greatly, especially so late at night. So instead, I grab Sebastian's arms and throw him to the ground. He stands up, throwing one of _my_ pillows over his crotch in a desperate attempt to save his pride or some stupid shit like that. Disregarding the pillow, I send a kick straight into his balls and watch the tears well up around the corners of his eyes. _Good,_ I think.

I turn to Kaelie, who has the sheets thrown over her long, sculpted body and is watching with what appears to be amusement in her eyes. And then it dawns on me.

The goddamned bitch wanted this to happen. She's wanted this to happen all along. In the last four minutes my emotions have gone from fatigued beyond compare to slightly confused to momentarily turned on to disgusted to angry to rage-driven to livid. And I'm ready to cut a bitch.

But then I hear the whooshing of water overhead, the tell-tale sign that Clary's shower is running. And for some strange (probably perverted) reason, this calms me down a bit and brings me back down to earth.

So instead of tearing Sebastian dick off of his body and throwing it and Kaelie out some kind of window like I want to, I stare straight into Kaelie's eyes. With all the controlled rage and venom I can muster, I spit at her, "You're a sorry waste of space. If I see either of you anywhere near here again, I will file a restraining order immediately. And it won't be pretty. Take your clothes and your saggy-assed fuckboy and get out of my apartment. Now."

Surprising me, they both scramble for their clothing and run out of the room quicker than I thought possible. I didn't realize I could actually be so scary.

The smell of sex still lingers in the air, so I grab one of the extra blankets from the closet and head to the couch.

When I wake up the next morning, I wash the sheets and blankets from my bed. Twice. Even then I can't remove the memory of the encounter from them, so instead of heading back to put them on my bed, I take them outside and hand them out to some homeless people down the street.

Feeling better than this morning, I grab my coat and bicycle and head out for some lunch. I stop at a little sandwich place down the street and people-watch from the windows. It's honestly one of my favorite pastimes. I can forget so easily that there are so many billions of people out there, and that these 7 or 8 billion aren't just there to fill a number. Each one has their own life, their own aspirations, beliefs, quirks.

Some of them walk with deep set eyes and heavy frowns, while others are alight with joy. I see a rainbow of hair colors, a plethora of piercings. Tattoos of sperm whales, corporate logos, and treble clefs. Some walk with hands in pockets, some with them folded around their torsos and chests. Others have their hands locked in those of someone else. A curious mix of strictly-professionals and post-modernists.

One couple walks together in matching pant-suits, holding hands but each on their cell phone talking to someone else. Right behind them walks two women with hands in eachothers' jeans pockets and matching platinum hair talking animatedly.

As the bill is set down, a face struts by that is more than familiar. I throw down some cash, grab my coat and dart out the door.

When the door to the restaurant closes behind me, I throw my arms into my jacket sleeves and look down the street. Her hair is bouncing with each step she takes. I am weaving through people to get up to her.

"Iz!" I call, "Wait up!" She turns her head around, her straight black hair whipping around her face as she locks eyes with me. And then she turns back around and increases her pace in the other direction. I start running to get to her. My Converse are gripping the pavement as I dart down the block. "Iz, come on! What are you doing?" She doesn't turn around this time.

I finally catch up to her when she has to stop at a crosswalk. My hand finds hers and whirls her around. "Iz, what's going on? You haven't returned any of my calls, and then you saw me just now and started running off and—"

"I can't talk right now, Jace. I'm really super late for this meeting with my, uh, boss. And he needs to see me and I need to go right this minute so I can't talk to you because of this very important—"

"Isabelle, slow down. I know that's total bullshit. Did you forget that you don't even have a boss?" Her fake resolve falters and drops while her shoulders simultaneously slump. "Now are you going to tell me why you've been avoiding me? I've called at least half a dozen times, and you never pick up. What's going on?"

She inhales quickly and exhales with a long sigh. "Okay, fine. I just didn't want to run into you because I know how mad you'll be. What I did was so shitty."

She looks up at me through her long black eyelashes. She's tall, but she still has to tilt her head up to meet my eyes. She jumps a little when I start laughing at her. Extremely loudly. "Isabelle Sophia Lightwood, you couldn't be further from the truth. Well, I mean, yeah that was pretty shitty. But I'm not mad at all. You completely and wholly broke the ice between me and a girl I've been trying to talk to for two and a half years. Do you know how grateful I am? That's why I've been trying to call you: to thank you."

Her eyes go from the panicked blue of a tumultuous ocean to the excitement of a midnight past curfew. "Does that mean Jace has a crush on his neighbor?"

"No!" I shout, "She's just an amiga. I mean I've only known her for like a day."

"Amiga as in Asstastic-Mama Inducing Groin Amplification?"

"Isabelle, that doesn't even make sense."

"She gives you boners," she translates. I just give her a look that shows she didn't meet expectations. "I know, I had to reach a bit on that one. But it got my point across."

"That's not what I meant by amiga. I just mean that if anything we're friends now. Which is good because she's my next door neighbor and I should be able to say that I know my next-door neighbor. Besides, I needed to be able to remind her that the walls are not as thick as she thinks. Because she seems to forget that pretty often when she turns on music. But it's good music so it hasn't bothered me too much." I'm rambling a bit and I'm aware that I'm talking too fast, but I'm just trying to regain a bit of normalcy in the conversation and get that mischievous glint out of Isabelle's eyes at the thought of me having a crush. But Isabelle looks no more convinced of my argument than the telephone pole adjacent to her.

"Okay…" she trails off, looking very much like she doesn't believe me. "Well I'll let you get back to your "amiga" then." She smiles at me.

"No, come on Iz. Walk with me. I have to go get my bike from the rack up there anyways." She obliges and we set off back down the sidewalk both with hands shoved in pockets and heads looking at feet. "Remember my work friend, Jordan, I keep telling you about? He's coming into town this weekend and he'll be staying at Clary's." She looks quizzically at me. "The girl next door," I fill in. Her expression only gets more confused. I chuckle lightly. "I guess they are childhood friends. They've known each other since birth practically. Anyways, this will be his first time out in Portland. It's going to be pretty cool. I'd like it if you could meet him too."

"Is he hot?" Isabelle asks.

"Quite," I reply with a straight face.

"I'll think about it, then." With a teasing smile and an adjustment of her jacket hood, she walks off towards her car in her stilettos. I hop on my bicycle and head home. I bike just for the feel of the wind on my face and in my hair as I ride. It stings my eyes and whips through my shirt and I love it. After just a few short blocks I'm back home. I pull my bike up the exterior stairs and prop it on the wall by my front door.

Once inside, it's like I'm restless; I can't sit in one place too long, nothing is holding my interest, I can't think of anything else to do but the thing I so desperately want to. Unable to fight it anymore, I head back out my door and knock on her's.

I hear a quiet "Be right there!" sounding like a bell tinkling in the far recesses of a velvet bag. I lean back againsst the railing opposite her door. In only a moment she's there wearing jeans, a drugstore crewneck sweatshirt, and a red flannel.

"Oh, hi Jace," she says. When she says my name its like she's speaking some unspoken language that only we are versed in. She scratches the back of her ankle with the toe of her wool-sock clad foot. She looks too comfortable for her own good. "What's up?"

"I have an idea."

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><p><strong>Please review!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi! I'm back! Hope everyone in the U.S. had a nice Thanksgiving, and is staying up to date and aware on all that's going on right now. I went on a little vacation and while on the road I got 7,000 words written! It's left me feeling super accomplished, and the next two chapters after this one are 100% written. This means prompter updates and can give me time to write several more chapters and things should basically be running smoother for a little while.**

**This is once again unbeta'd because IWriteNaked is currently writing from her phone, and I know how much of a bitch it can be to beta from a phone, so I'm giving her a bit of a break. That doesn't mean that the quality of her oneshots is being affected at all however, and she's cranking them out faster than ever before. So I'd head over there fast if I were you.**

**Happy reading and don't forget to review!**

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><p>He has a grin that overtakes at least half his face. His eyes are so bright they look as though they could burn. I nervously run my toe over the back of my ankle.<p>

"An idea?" I ask. His excitement is so contagious I can feel the tempo of my heart increasing.

"An idea," he repeats. I wait for him to elaborate, but he just stares at me, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of mine. After a few stale seconds, I clear my throat. He still doesn't quite catch on. He still looks at me with the same goofy grin, still leaning nonchalantly against the railing behind him. Despite the apparent one-way awkward atmosphere, I can't help smiling along with him.

"Come on in. Do elaborate," I tell him. And so he does.

"So, as you know, this is Jordan's first time in the Pacific Northwest, and I want it to be pretty special." I nod along with him. "I want to throw him a party. It doesn't have to be huge, but big enough that he can meet all the people we like out here, you know? I'll bring Alec and his boyfriend and Isabelle and you can bring Simon and it'll just be really personal and fun. I can buy booze, you can buy some food and we'll just chill." I think about it for a moment, and how utterly perfect it sounds. And I can't see a single drawback to his plan.

"That sounds great, Jace," I tell him. He beams at me from his spot on the plush chair.

"You think so?" He replies. I nod and fold my legs under me as I grab a pillow and plop onto the couch.

"Absolutely. We'll do it at my place," I say to him. He beams again. "But not Friday, because I was wanting to just spend some time with him Friday night. I haven't seen him in two and a half years, and he is my best friend. But we can do Saturday, definitely."

"Sure," he continues. "Here's the real question, though: do we tell him? Or do we keep it a secret? Like a surprise party?"

I think for a beat before replying. "I think we tell him, but not yet. He should know why people randomly start showing up, but not until they start showing up, or a couple hours before at least. So let's do this. We can all have lunch together and tell him the news on Saturday. Sound good?"

"Perfect."

"Good."

He continues to smile at me in that way that makes it impossible for me not to smile back. "What do you want to do?" he asks me, as if it's totally normal for us to hang out. But then I think about it, and there really isn't anything keeping us from hanging out.

"Well, I do have to go grocery shopping in preparation for Jordan's visit. Do you want to come with?"

"Absolutely, I do," he replies. He stands up from his chair and as he does so, his muscles ripple in his arms. It makes my cheeks flush and I squirm a little in my chair, embarrassed that I blushed. He doesn't seem to notice, and only takes my hand in his own and pulls me off the couch. I stand, and run to grab my shoes from my room.

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><p>We walk the aisles of the grocery stores, while Clary grabs items she needs along with items she know Jordan will like. Occasionally she sends me off to grab something that she says, in her own words, "are too far away for her", much like she just did. I'm headed off to grab paper towels and toilet paper. The brand with the dog on it, she'd said.<p>

Despite the fact that she sends me parading around like a little errand boy, I love hanging out with Clary. She's just so easy to be around, and I feel as though everything in the world becomes more honest when she's there. That and she is just such a strange bird. And I mean that in the most endearing way possible, she's just so peculiar. She lives in Portland, the self-proclaimed city of bicycles and says she doesn't like them. She doesn't even own one! Which led to a funny scene in the parking lot of our building a little while ago. I had run inside my flat to grab my bike and when I came out she was sitting in her car.

"What is that?" we had yelled at each other in unison.

I take my bike everywhere, it's just habit. And she somehow doesn't own a bicycle. I had trudged with my bike back into my flat and locked the doors before grudgingly climbing into her little car.

"Do you know how big the carbon footprint of this thing is? You're destroying the environment," I had told her exasperatedly. But she had just fired them right back at me.

"Yeah, but at least I'm safer. The bicycle fatalities have increased almost three-fold in Portland since 2006. Also, how am I supposed to carry groceries home on a tiny little metal rod with wheels?" Her ears had turned pink when she'd gotten exasperated, and without noticing I'm sure she kept tugging on the same lock of her hair. She'd reach for it up over her shoulder and back toward the nape of her neck and then tug it close and absentmindedly twirl it around her finger. It was extremely cute.

She was also, I noticed once we got on the road, an exceptionally good driver. She was so focused but also looked so comfortable. She seemed very much in her element there. And if what she had told me about her drawing and painting was true then it made sense. She liked to be in control. Not in a domineering, lead a revolution type of way, because that could easily get away from you. She likes to be in control in the most intimate of situations, where her control could not be challenged or questioned.

She likes to be in control of herself.

I grab the toilet paper and paper towels and start heading back over to the produce. She smiles at me when she sees me, and it's like the moon appears in a starry night, its radiant light blocking out that of all the stars around it, until it's swimming in solitude against the blackness. I smile back immediately and her smile reshapes into a small crescent, decorated by blushing cheeks. It makes me smile just a little bit bigger, just like it had when she'd blushed at me on her couch.

I had tried to play it off nonchalantly at the time, but I did see the layer of crimson hiding under her blanket of freckles as she took my hand. It made my heart feel weird and fluttery. God damn, I have a crush.

What is this, the fucking first grade?

I need to get over myself.

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><p>Jace even helped me carry the groceries inside when we got back. I unloaded them into the fridge and their various cupboards as he carried them up from the car. this was of course after he had also paid for half the groceries. He had originally tried to pay for all of them, to which I had stomped my foot and thrown a hissy fit. I was not going to let him buy my groceries. I then tried to buy them all, rightfully (they were <em>my groceries<em> after all), to which he threatened to pop all the tires in my car. His exact words were "Fine, buy your groceries. But I won't be the one helping you carry them home on two feet."

So we had made a compromise. Both fuming at the other, and the cashier looking entirely amused, he paid for half. "You two are such a cute couple," the cashier had remarked after the groceries had all been loaded back into the cart.

Nobody talked the whole drive home.

But once we had arrived back home, it was like the veil of awkwardness had been dissolved and we were both back to ourselves.

I finish putting away the last bag of groceries, and turn around. Jace is nowhere to be seen. Where could he have gone?

"Jace?" I call, "You still here?"

"Back here!" He calls. It sounds like his voice is coming from... The guest room!

"You're not in the guest room, are you? _Please_ tell me you're not in the guest room," I plead. When he doesn't reply it only solidifies what I seemed to already know. I run and stop at the doorway to find him standing there with one of my sketchbooks in his hands. He's flipping through the pages like he owns the place.

He looks up at me and an admiring smile graces his features. "These are really good," he says to me.

"No shit Sherlock, I didn't get into art school because of my impressive yodeling technique. Why did you come in here? This isn't yours to look at." My eyebrows are furrowed and my voice keeps catching on the lump in my throat.

Leave it to me to never be able to get angry without crying.

I can already feel the hot tears threatening to spill. I snatch the sketchbook from his hands and snap it closed furiously.

"Woah, woah, please don't be mad. I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries. I was going to put the toilet paper in the bathroom and I just saw it on my way back. I shouldn't have touched it. I'm really sorry."

"No, it's okay it's just really personal and I don't like sharing my art very much. It's like a document of all of my emotions and my feelings and my past and it's like a diary to me. It's just really hard for me to let people in like that."

Of course my tears pick that moment to spill over. Before the first one has even left my cheek, Jace has wrapped his arms around me. His body is so warm and his sweatshirt is like a barrier of softness protecting me from the hard plain of his chest. He smells like pine and coffee beans and clouds and books.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't think."

I try to tell him it's okay but suddenly there are so many tears blocking the path of my words. They started out as angry tears and now they're just meaningless. They're just a streak of emotion that I can't contain.

He rests the surface of his cheek on the top of my head and holds me there in my little makeshift art studio until my eyes run dry.

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><p><strong>-katethewriter<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay so I told a couple of you like 30 minutes ago that it would be somewhere between Tuesday and Thursday. But I got really fucking impatient and so I posted today. Like I was sitting here fixing my profile (which you should all check out btw) and it was just so tempting and I had already uploaded it and I just couldn't wait.**

**I'm feeling super great about this one, just let me know. I love Jace's POV. It's just so fun to write and I think it is more versatile in that he can be complex and sweet and then talk about his giant dong or Max shitting his pants like two seconds later. I don't know. **

**Once again, unbeta'd. It's really shitty trying to beta from a phone. It's like trying to compete in a horse race while riding on a lizard; it's not impossible but its fucking difficult. Go check out IWriteNaked though. She's pretty fucking cool.**

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><p>After a little while, Clary stops crying. I continue to hold her after her sniffles have subsided. I can't believe I made her cry. I'm such a fucking idiot. God damn me and my incessant need to ruin perfectly good things.<p>

She mumbles something against my chest that sounds something like, "Great."

"Hmm?" I ask her, moving my head from its point atop hers so that I can look at her.

"Now, not only am I the weird neighbor girl who threw up on you, but I'm also the weird neighbor girl who cried on you after you bought her groceries."

I scoff at her. "Yeah, but doesn't that make me the womanizing next door neighbor whose sister yelled at you and then invaded your privacy and personal space?" She exhales a giggle and rests her forehead back against my chest.

"What an exciting duo we are, huh?"

"Indeed," I reply.

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><p>After Clary had dried her eyes, I had offered to buy takeout for the two of us. After arguing about her paying all or the possibility of going half in, we decided she would buy, and I'd pay tip and do dishes. It didn't strike me until at least a full minute later that this was extremely unfair, especially since I was originally going to pay for it all <em>and<em> do dishes. But by that time we had already pinky promised to seal the deal and I knew there was no going back.

Clary reaches into one of the drawers in her kitchen and pulls out a stack of take-out menus. The food ranges from Mexican to Chinese to Japanese to Thai to Italian. "I'm feeling like either Chinese or pizza. But if it's pizza it has to be from Luigi's because their crust is extra thick."

"So you prefer it thick?" I ask with a smirk. "I can accommodate for that."

She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at me. "Chinese or pizza, dickwad. We don't have all day here."

"Alright fine, I pick Chinese."

She reaches into the stack and grabs the menu for the local hole-in-the-wall Chinese place. It's the kind of restaurant that only has two small tables inside because nobody would really want to be seen stuffing their face with that shit in public. And it's my favorite.

Clary rips a sheet of paper off the notepad magnetized to the front of her fridge and grabs a red pen out of the cup on the countertop.

_Chicken fried rice_

_Orange chicken_

_Chicken chow mein_

_Mongolian beef_

They're all written in her red script before I can even open my mouth. I only have one thing to add to her list: "Eggrolls," I say.

"But of course," she replies and adds them to the list quickly. She has uniquely beautiful handwriting. It's very casual, evidencing the standard handwriting that all girls seem to conform to in their middle school years, but there are subtle hints of more cursive-y styles. Her e's all swoop into the next letters and her g's make a little curl around their own tails. It, like almost everything else about her, is extremely endearing.

She grabs her cell phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and unlocks it. She scrolls through the dozen or so contacts in her favorites list and clicks one. The number comes up and within seconds they answer.

"Hey, Lee." A quick pause. "Yeah, it's me Clary." Another moment of silence save for the indistinct buzzing of the other persons talking. "No, I'll just have the usual, but can I get a second order of the Eggrolls and fried rice? I've got a friend over." Clary smiles at something said on the other end of the phone and looks over at me. "No, we are just friends. And we will _definitely_ be needing two pairs of chopsticks. Thank you!"

"I take it you frequent this place," I chuckle.

Her pale skin goes red under her freckles in that blush that I'm finding myself growing quite fond of. "What, you're not on a first name basis with all the employees at China's Garden?" She jokes.

While we wait for the food to arrive, she throws on her TV. We start scrolling through the channels pretty much aimlessly until we come across one we can't skip past. "New Years Eve" the letters across the bottom read. A shot of a girl reading in a lodge.

"No fucking way," I say.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." She scoots forward in her chair just as the shot cuts to a boy in a red jersey and his dad playing basketball. The gym floor is shining and the sky outside is dark.

"_Come on Troy, lay up, lay up!" _The dad yells to the son.

"It's High School fucking Musical," we say in unison.

We are in absolute enraptured awe until the doorbell rigs as Ms. Darbus makes her first appearance. Clary offers to just get it, but I insist that we answer together. When we do, Clary in the front and me standing a few feet behind her, the delivery man just looks at her, then points at me and laughs.

"Just friends?" He asks in a high-pitched voice with some kind of heavy accent. He's practically doubled over in laughter. "Just friends my ass!"

"Alright, you know what Lee? He's the one in charge of paying your tip so I would change my attitude if I were you," Clary says, trying to sound firm. He only laughs harder. Clary genuinely does seem angry, and I want to take her side n this one but Lee's laugh is just so goddamn high-pitched and contagious that what starts as a bubble of laughter in my throat quickly turns into the two of us doubled over with Clary looking exasperated and pissed.

"Jace what the honest fuck are you laughing at?" She says, frowning down at me.

"I have no holy idea," I howl back from my spot on the goddamn floor. Am I a sixth grade girl? First I'm watching high school musical and next I'm giggling on the floor. God have mercy.

"Jace, get up. Come on. Or I'll send you home and eat all this Chinese food by myself." She doesn't seem genuinely pissed, more like a little bit irked mixed with 400% done.

And even though I know she isn't remotely serious, I take a deep breath to quell the laughter and stand up. Lee is wiping literal fucking tears from his eyes. He holds out the bag of takeout boxes and I reach forward and grab it from him.

"That will be $37.50," Lee manages to get out between wheezes. Clary pulls out 38 bucks and I grab a ten from my wallet.

Lee looks me up and down, grinning, and then says to Clary, "Have fun with your 'just friend'." He even uses air quotes, to which Clary flips him off. He walks away cackling and Clary shuts the door.

I smirk at her as she brushes by, jolting my shoulder in what can only be a purposeful bump. I let out another breathy laugh and follow her back to the couch.

Clary sits with her chin resting upon her knees, her legs tucked up on the seat. Rather than sitting in my usual spot on her big chair, I grab the spot next to her on the couch.

Her living room speaks so loudly of her character. The pieces were all undoubtedly grabbed from garage sales or thrift stores or second-hand furniture shops. They all have exactly nothing in common, but each one fits so perfectly with every other piece that it's hard to believe they didn't all come from the same set. She has red plaid blankets and a few grandma-esque quilts draped across the pieces (an old oak armoire with her TV in it; the large, plush, dark brown chair that I frequent; the three-top, dark green couch; and the black lacquered coffee table strewn with various weathered books). I set the bag of food down on the coffee table. We made it back to the movie just in time for Gabriella's bitchy penmanship comment.

"Honestly, I can't stand Gabriella. I've never really liked her," Clary says with her nose wrinkled.

"Why? Isn't she just like a perfect character? She's smart and independent and focused on school and loves to read and forms all her own opinions."

"Well on the surface, yes." While talking, Clary grabs one of the fleece blankets from behind her and throws it over the two of us. I smile. "Until you look a bit closer and realize that she's not really any of those things. Yeah, she's smart but she resents that aspect of herself while simultaneously full of herself. And she acts focused on school until a boy shows interest in her and then she's just a one-note loser."

"I'm sensing some underlying resentment," I kid.

She laughs. I adjust the blanket on my legs and scoot a bit closer to Clary so it won't be so strained across the couch. The space between our legs seems to fizzle with electricity.

"You realize that we've known each other for what, three days? And already you're inviting me in and draping blankets over the two of us. I could be a murderer you know," I say to her.

"Well the thought crossed my mind but then I realized that all the girls who have ever gone into your apartment have come back out the next morning. So I imagine I'll be okay. By the way, you've got to invest in a new bed frame. That shit squeaks like no other." She smiles at me as she reaches into the bag for both pairs of chopsticks and the box of chow mein. She hands me one of the chopstick sleeves and opens up the box.

"Well pardon me, Clary I-can't-listen-to-music-unless-my-stereo-is-on-full-volume Fray."

"You know you love my music taste though, it's basically perfect," she says back to me. She reaches in and takes a bite of chow mein then holds the box out in my direction. I grab a bite and then I shake my head.

"I honestly can't even argue with that one," I admit. Because I can't. Her music is great. "But does my bed really squeak that much?"

"Uh, yeah," she says as though it's entirely obvious. "You sure seem to need a lot of company too." I blush a bit and look down at my lap with a chuckle.

"Well, it's not necessarily my fault. I can't go out in public without some girl begging to see a little more of my perfect bod," I recover. She throws one hand over her eyes with a laugh.

"What, do they just line up?" She laughs.

"No," I admit. "It's more like one at a time they say 'Oh Jace, just take me now on this sidewalk for all I care. If I don't see your giant raging dong I might die!' And who would I be to say no to someone like that in need?" For my imitation I throw my voice up at least two octaves. She covers her mouth with her hand and laughs.

"Well, of course, you being the gentleman just say, 'Of course, baby. Follow me back to my squeaky ass bed where we can make love with my giant dong.'" She drops her own voice down to a gravelly, egotistical, bass-range timbre when she imitates me.

"I can't help it if I have mass amounts of extremely pleasurable sex. I'm just giving back what I can to the community."

"Oh yeah 'pleasurable'. Whoever you had over last night sure knew how to make some noise," Clary remarks with a mischievous smile and raised eyebrows.

"I didn't-I haven't had any-nobody was-" I stutter, trying to figure out what she's talking about, "oh." I huff out a breath and she looks at me, suddenly nervous by my reaction.

"If I hit some kind of nerve, I didn't mean to I was just-"

"No, it's cool. I guess looking back its kind of a funny story." She angles her slight body more towards me, getting ready for the monologue I'm about to launch into. "So I'm dating this girl for a few months, right? Her names Kaelie."

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><p><strong>All 2100 words of this are 100% Jace. And I love it.<strong>

**-katethewriter**

**P.S. If any of you guys wanted to see me on any platforms other than fanfiction, I have started a pinterest board titled The (Somewhat) Chance Encounter. I got this idea from Ash (IWriteNaked) and so far I have only pinned little pictures of how I pictured the respective characters. I'm currently looking for a Kaelie, Sebastian, and Jon, so be on the lookout for those. **

**P.P.S. You can also find me on tumblr as "graknowla". My blog isn't in any way related to this story, but it's funny and littered with feminist rants. I would really appreciate it if you guys went and checked it out!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi hi!**

**This chapter has been sponsored by : Spotify, hot coffee, and Walk the Moon. Honestly if I didn't have my little Moon Walkers, this story wouldn't have made it anywhere near this far.**

**Unbeta'd again, but don't forget to check out IWriteNaked! I'm obsessed with Reckless Abandon, but she also has a fic about a polyandrous Clary which is something so badass I wish I had thought of it myself.**

**Don't forget to check out my pinterest (same name as on here) and my tumblr (graknowla).**

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><p>He told me the whole story of his last relationship, stopping every few details to take a few bites of the food.<p>

And from the first moment honestly, I could tell this relationship would be a flop. They had met in a club and hooked up and she convinced him that they should get together more often. Basically she requested to be his booty call. And then she had convinced him that they should be exclusive. From there it had just been a string of her demanding more of him and not giving anything in return.

I sat, splitting my attention mostly between Jace's story and the fried rice nestled between my crossed legs. It's the best goddamn fried rice on this coast. It's so shitty, with the frozen peas and carrots and the MSG so plentiful that you pee orange for weeks after eating it. But the butter and soy sauce and the rice and the little pieces of deep fried chicken and the best part of all-the bacon. It's so fucking good. You don't find fried rice with bacon in it that often, but when you do you know it's a winner. When he finishes his diatribe, ending with the dick-pillow incident, I realize what a dick I was for bringing up something like that. But I also feel a weight lifting off my chest. I'm such a selfish loser, I'm happy that it wasn't _Jace_ enjoying himself in his own apartment, but his bitch ex.

"Well that is some shit right there."

"Yep." He reaches over into the spot right between my legs and grabs the fried rice out of it.

"That was like, in my crotch just now," I remind him.

"I noticed."

"And you're just going to eat it?"

"This is the best fried rice in town. Maybe in this state. Maybe on this coast. Crotch or no crotch I'm going to eat some of it."

I look up to the screen with a smile on my lips. Already it's the scene in the greenhouse. I always thought they'd kiss in this scene, it would be so romantic. I'd love to be kissed in a greenhouse. It'd be so beautiful, with all the exotic flowers and plants lighting up all around. I had this little dream once, back when I had that giant crush on Jordan, where he had taken me into this indoor garden. It was my birthday and he brought me into this garden and all around were these beautiful flowers and he led me up to the top of a spiraling iron staircase and it was just so beautiful and we sat up there and he watched with me as a flower bloomed and then he kissed me. It was basically everything a highschool freshman girl could have wanted.

Thinking about my little fantasy kiss reminds me of the conversation with Jace the other day when he had told me about his fantasy.

With _Gabriella_.

Holy shit.

"So Jace, what's it like watching a movie starring the girl you'd fantasize about?"

He looks at me and laughs, no doubt revisiting the conversation too. "Well I'd have to say it's a little disappointing. This movie is much more PG than I would prefer." I smile and shake my head at him. "I mean, in my fantasy - at least during the parts when she was clothed - she was wearing this skin tight red dress and black heels and it was just so fucking hot. And here she's wearing like frilly cardigans and jeans with embroidered butterflies on them. It's just not the same."

He gives me this lopsided grin that makes my whole body feel warm.

We watch the rest of the movie mostly in silence, and at the end Jace stands up and grabs the boxes. The minute he stand up my legs feel cold, the electric energy just flowing between our legs now gone.

There's still half a box of the beef and the orange chicken, but the eggrolls, chow mein, and fried rice are long gone. He throws the empty boxes away and puts the other two in the fridge. Once everything is cleaned up, he comes back and sits down. He doesn't bother putting the blanket back on.

"Funny. Everyone keeps thinking we're a couple. First the woman at the coffee shop who took our order and then my sister did and the cashier at the grocery store and Lee from China's Garden," Jace says.

"My brother did too!" I say laughing.

"I think your friend Simon was starting to suspect something."

"Oh, that would explain why he was acting so weird! I couldn't figure it out before. But now I get it, he was probably upset that I didn't tell him first or anything like that."

"Somehow I don't think that was it, Clary," Jace says to me.

"What do you mean?" I ask, now even more confused by his cryptic answer.

"I think Simon was jealous."

"What? Are you kidding? Simon wouldn't be jealous. He has been in plenty of relationships in the last few years."

"He's not jealous that you're in a relationship and he's not, he's jealous that you're in a relationship and its not with him!"

It's too strange a theory for me to think about, but as it roots itself in my brain it starts to make a lot of sense. Flustered, I say, "Regardless, I'm not in a relationship so it doesn't matter."

"A lot of people seem to think you are," Jace says in an oddly clipped tone. "Goodnight, Clary."

And without another word he heads back to his own place. I sit on the couch for an indeterminable amount of time, just trying to process the situation with Simon. It makes too much sense for me to discredit it, even though that's all I really want to do.

And what was with Jace's weird goodbye? After I've sat so long that my legs have fallen asleep, I pat them awake and stand up. I brush my teeth, throw on my pajamas and crack open all the windows.

It's a weird thing of mine, I can't sleep when the windows are closed. I always feel stuffed and it's too warm. I've been sleeping with them open as long as I can really remember, but it's become so much more enjoyable since I moved here.

In New York it was always so loud, which I didn't mind necessarily at the time. It wasn't until I moved out here that I realized how quiet the night could really be. Most nights all I hear is the occasional passing of a car or a laugh and the rain. The constant, pouring rain. Sometimes it will subside to dull drizzles, but it seems to always be there. Just like that feeling of lightness seems to always be there when I'm with Jace.

It's so puzzling. And so pleasant.

And I love it.

In a gesture that is both silly and embarrassing, I reach my hand up above my head from its spot on the pillow and knock on the wall. I do it without even really thinking. Three evenly spaced little knocks. Not quite quiet but not at all loud. Immediately embarrassed with myself, I pull my blanket up to my forehead. I can't believe I fucking did that. I'm going to look like such a loser.

I just wanted to show him somehow that he was on my mind. That he's almost always on my mind now.

In my moment of mortification I contemplate moving away so I won't have to show my dorky face to Jace ever again.

Until three resounding knocks come back from the other side of the wall.

I smile like the fucking idiot that I am and close my eyes.

That night I dream of the garden kiss I dreamt about so many years ago. Only this time it's not Jordan leading me up the iron staircase, it's Jace.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it! I know it's taking forever to get to Jordan's arrival, but it will be here very soon! And so will their little get-together with the friends. I tried to not-so-subtlely sneak in their canon first kiss, even though that's not how it will happen here (spoiler alert I guess).<strong>

**Let me know what you think in a review!**

**-katethewriter**


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